Drabbles of the Damned
by thats-a-moray
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles, and challenges set throughout Nosgoth's history and starring freaking everybody. Generally home to stories less than 1,500 words. Ratings range from K to T. Latest story: "Metamorphosis" with Rahab & Zephon
1. Our Brother, Raziel - Dumah & Turel

**AN:** I'm in the process of simplifying the dating system for my LoK stories. Some people have been confused because Kain would appear in eras "before the birth of Kain." So now, instead of going by Kain's birth, I'm using the corruption of the Pillars as a standard. It's the same date as Kain's birth with a less confusing label. So for example, 500 BPC = 500 years before the Pillars' corruption; 2000 APC = 2,000 years after the Pillars' corruption. Any stories that take place post-Defiance, after the Pillars are restored, will be labeled NE or "new era." Ex: Time Streamer takes place in the year 1 NE, the first year of Nosgoth's new era. It's going to take me a while to update all my stories so for now you'll only be seeing these dates in Drabbles of the Damned. _Remember,_ the years haven't changed, just their label. :)

* * *

**Title:** Our Brother, Raziel

**Era:** Soul Reaver: 1500 APC

**Character(s):** Dumah & Turel

**Genre:** Challenge

**Rating:** K+

**Summary: **A few weeks after Raziel's execution, Dumah goes to Turel to talk about their fallen brother and the hand they had in his death. For a better understanding of what's going on here, you can read "The Council" on my profile.

**Challenge:** Have you ever read a story that has absolutely no dialogue in it whatsoever? Well, this time, I want a story that has nothing but dialogue in it!

Here's the rules

1) It must be in present time. No flashbacks can be used!

2) It must be at least 727 words! Why 727? Because I like 27.

3) There must be two people in this story as a minimum. Dialogue, not monologue!

Good luck, my friends! - issued by MessangerOfDreams

* * *

"Turel, we need to talk about what happened."

"You know it is forbidden."

"Yes. That's why I wanted to speak with you alone. You must feel the same weight as I."

"The law is clear. We were following orders."

"I am not questioning the law. That's a dangerous accusation."

"Then you understand my reluctance. We should never speak of this, brother. Leave the dead in the ground where they belong."

"It haunts me..."

"Serving Kain should be our highest calling. Should I remind you why he was executed? Or would you question that, too?"

"I have questioned nothing! If Kain ordered me thrown into the abyss, would you not feel an once of remorse?"

"Dumah, I would keep it to myself."

"I did not ask you to share. I know you do not care for these sort of talks... Normally I would do as you say, but this is something I need to get off my chest. I won't take up too much of your time. Since that day, I feel as though I am walking around with one leg shorter than the other. I keep thinking he is still here and I have to remind myself constantly that I am wrong. I have never before felt my hands dirtied by blood."

"-Do not say that it was wrong."

"No. No... But... Turel... you must feel something. He was our brother for a thousand years."

"It was disappointing to end him that way, without settling the score. I would have preferred to kill him with my bare hands, if Kain allowed it."

"Perhaps he would, if you had said something. He did not want to die that way."

"It matters not. I hate him now more than I ever did."

"I too feel bitter, brother. He should have presented his new gift with more tact so as not to cause offense. I agree that he brought this on himself with his pride. You could see how he was looking down on all of us when he walked into the Sanctuary with those wings. Now it's as if he has abandoned us."

"He was always more arrogant than the rest of us. I tell you, brother, it made me happy to see him suffer. You try to trick me into sentimentality, but you too enjoyed the fear in his eyes when Kain tore those pompous wings from his back."

"We all did. But now he is gone."

"Good riddance."

"How could he not know what he was doing? Did he truly believe Kain would allow his insult to pass? Others have been killed for lesser transgressions."

"He was spoiled."

"Yes, but he was intelligent, too. It was not like him to behave so rashly. You remember how he saved my life at the Battle of Meridian when I recklessly charged into a garrison of vampire hunters. And when we took back Freeport, he was the one who came up with the idea to attack from the east while the Cabal distracted the guards at the western gate. We lost some Cabal vampires in the charge but not half as many as we would have lost had Kain not heeded his advice. When you, Melchiah, and Rahab were captured at the Battle of Willendorf, he was the one who convinced Kain to send a rescue party. And he led that party, too."

"So what? We've all been there for one another. Or did you forget about the Battle for the Pillars?"

"No, heh, no. Let's not bring that up."

"Even a war hero is not immune from the law, Dumah."

"I did not mean that. I merely meant to say… If we had a choice, Turel… If Kain gave us a choice…"

"We had no choice. Kain's word is law."

"I know. But if I could go back, I would have given up my burden to someone else. Let Zephon drag him to the Lake of the Dead. Would you?"

"It would shame me to do so… We would be called weak."

"That's true. Now that I reconsider it, it would have shamed him to be carried to his death by the likes of Zephon. Few vampires have been borne into the abyss by our hands."

"If I was in his place, I would curse to hell whoever threw me to my death, even Kain. I am not saying I disagree with Master's ruling. But…"

"I know, Turel."

"This will pass in time. We should not dwell on it. Go home, Dumah."

"Thank you, brother. It is good to relieve one's burdens with a friend."

"…"


	2. Destiny is a Game - Kain & Raziel

**Title:** Destiny is a Game

**Era:** Soul Reaver: 2,000 years after the birth of Kain

**Character(s):** Kain & Raziel

**Genre:** Challenge

**Rating:** K

**Summary: **Raziel is destined to spend eternity trapped in a soul devouring blade: the Soul Reaver. His destiny is cyclical and has been completed many times - but he alone can change it with a single choice. Five-hundred years ago Kain executed him, setting fate in motion once more. Now Raziel has returned as a wraith, a soul devouring specter, and is headed for his first confrontation with his master. As the day of prophecy approaches, Kain prepares to face his vengeful first-born son.

**Challenge:** Write a drabble of exactly 100 words that incorporates at least one of these ideas: Love, Betrayal, Regret, Forgiveness, Hope. Also, include at least one of these prompts in some way: "horse," "sword," "magic," "dragon," "ray gun," "spaceship." Prompts can be pluralized (for example, "dragons") or turned into adjectives (for example, "magical") or part of a compound word (for example, "horseback") and need not physically be in the story (for example, you could just have a character thinking or talking about a dragon rather than actually having a dragon appear). Feel free to use as many of the ideas and prompts as you like, but it would probably be difficult to use all of them in just 100 words. - issued by Rosa

* * *

In the empire's forsaken Sanctuary, centuries of silence cried out like disturbed spirits fleeing a ruptured tomb. Kain hunched on his impotent throne, grim sword in hands. The Soul Reaver's eyes blazed fox-fire blue; cold steel hummed in anticipation.

No more than a carcass, Raziel shambled forward, his eyes a facsimile of the Reaver's glare. His flayed body bled hatred. Seeing him for the first time, Kain grimaced wearily and stood. One day Raziel would understand why he condemned him to this hell. He saw their fate written on these bleak and crumbling walls. Someday, they would both be free.


	3. Raziel's Average Morning - Raziel

**Title:** Raziel's Average Morning

**Era:** Pre-Soul Reaver: 1490 APC

**Character(s):** Raziel & OCs

**Genre:** Romance

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Ten years before his fatal evolution, before the execution that reduced him to a corpse of his former self, before destiny ensnared him in its cruel hands, Raziel once had an average morning. It was nice.

* * *

There was no need to sleep. When Raziel opened his eyes he felt neither refreshed nor well rested. However, he found it pleasant to awaken from the darkness and solitude of slumber with Nosgoth's gentle sunlight resting on his shoulder and a beautiful face nestled against his chest. Sarai.

Another set of arms wrapped loosely around his middle. He felt her breasts against his backside; her dark hair mingled with his own and filled his nostrils with the scent of lilacs. Fayruz.

Lying on the other side of the bed, a black cat nestled between her thighs, his third wife, with striking green eyes, unusual for a vampire of Razielim descent, was already awake. He leaned over Sarai and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Justine.

He leaned against Justine and smiling scratched the cat behind the ears, listening to its purr. Beneath him Sarai stirred and ran a hand up his chest and hooked it over his shoulder, imploring him to lie down with her again. She did not want to wake up yet. Fayruz was still fast asleep. Raziel gave Sarai his hand to kiss to appease her. "Where is Klara?" he asked Justine.

Justine shrugged. "I don't know."

"Maybe she turned into that cat," Sarai mused impishly. Her arms tightened around him like a vice. "Stay. This is nice."

Sarai was his youngest wife; not a fledgling by any means, though she often acted like one. Lately he found this sort of behavior more tedious than charming. He suddenly wanted to flee. "I should find her."

She pouted at him. He almost gave her a kiss, but the childish look in her eyes made him change his mind. As he climbed out of their bed Fayruz rolled onto her back and stretched her long and slender limbs, her whole body on display. She briefly caught his eye. "Where are you going, Raziel?" Fayruz yawned.

He stepped into a pair of black pants and pulled a loose-fitting, white shirt over his head. If he was going out he would have dressed more flamboyantly. As it was, he simply wanted to be comfortable. "To find Klara."

"Alright... Mmm, wait, there's something you're forgetting."

"Alright," Raziel sighed. He leaned over and gave Fayruz a kiss before departing. Although he was the eldest and most powerful of Kain's sons, he had the fewest wives. There was a good reason for this. Whenever he took a new wife one of his old wives would inevitably become disgruntled by the lack of attention paid to her and leave. Sometimes she came back, but not always. It pained him at first but over the centuries he had come to accept it as a fact of life. He simply did not have time to devote to a large harem. Romance was nice, but his mind was often wrapped up in more engaging pursuits.

This manor belonged more to his wives than it did to him. He was not easily content. Eying the red curtains, he entertained what it would be like to tear down the whole empire and start again from scratch. While the war games with Turel and Dumah were entertaining they were nothing compared to the battles they fought side by side during the founding of the empire, nor were he and his brothers as close as they were during those times of strife. Now each new day was guaranteed, there was no vigor, no grand struggle for glory. Raziel was happy but unfulfilled.

Trembling notes fluttered from the music room. Raziel followed their sad tune. At their end he found Klara stretched out across the couch, lying on a pillow of curly amber locks, eyes closed. She wore a silky white nightgown with a lacy trim. The gown flowed over her milky white legs, shimmering in the golden candlelight. Across the room, a blue aura plucked at the strings of a golden harp. The same blue aura floated about her claws as she gently combed the air, playing music like a sleepwalker. She did not notice him.

The music faded out with a whisper. Klara held her hands side by side at her chest, lips faintly twitching in indecision. The blue glow around her claws faded.

Raziel lifted his hand and concentrated. As he swept his claws through the air the strings of the harp glowed and sprung a sour note. Klara bolted upright and glared at her laughing husband.

"I'm sorry. That was beautiful," he said kindly, placating her. She had been practicing this trick for months now; having mastered playing the harp by hand and by telekensis, the only logical step was to master playing the harp by telekensis with her eyes closed.

He sat down beside her and she leaned against his chest as he snugly wrapped his arm around her middle and began plucking the harp strings idly from a distance. Cupping her right hand over his, she lifted her left and played notes to accompany him. He followed her cadence, letting her deft fingers dictate his movements. Klara was an accomplished musician; Raziel was not, at least on the harp, but he enjoyed the challenge and Klara was kind enough not to criticize him too harshly when he struck the wrong cord.

She smiled wryly, eyes half closed. Affectionately, she teased, "You're terrible."

He cooed, "So were you, once."

She elbowed him softly in the ribs without missing a note. "Don't you have sandbags to slash to pieces?"

Like Klara, he spent his free time perfecting a skill that was, in practical terms, useless. He doubted he would ever again find himself in a situation where his swordsmanship would determine whether he lived or died. He still engaged in duals, but these were merely for sport. He shook his head, feeling her hair brush against his cheek. "No. I want to practice something different today."

On the other side of the room, the golden harp appeared to play itself.


	4. Obligation - Janos & Vorador

**Title:** Obligation

**Era:** Sarafan: 500 BPC

**Character(s):** Janos Audron & Vorador

**Genre:** Angst

**Rating:** K+

**Summary: **Janos suffers the Hylden's curse. For more information on what's going on here, you can check out "Vampires," "The Pillars of Nosgoth," and "The Sarafan Order" on my profile. Note: Kairos was originally named Chronos, but I think Kairos is a better name for him. Look it up!

* * *

The wind whistled faintly, carrying snow from heaven. Catching in his hair and feathers, the pure white snowflakes stood out like stars against the ebony night. He flexed his wings but the snow clung to him as surely as ice to the lake below.

Blood and fire filled the cloudy sky above the Uschtenheim mountains near Janos's Arie. Far beyond these white capped mountains, beyond the foggy swamp of his child, Vorador, beyond the dreaded Sarafan Stronghold and the Great Southern Lake, far far away to the south west, the nine Pillars of Nosgoth rose into the heavens, visible even from this great distance, the symbols of the land and its stalwart protectors.

When the Pillars were raised centuries ago he was merely a boy, one of the last generations of vampire children. As a young man, he did not know that he would never marry, that his last living 'child' would be a human swordsmith tainted with the same curse that damned the Ancients' race. He never dreamed that he would be standing here, the last Ancient vampire in Nosgoth, waiting on a savior who might never come. His golden eyes drifted toward the Reaver in its case. As he gazed at the legendary sword his thoughts turned to dark desires; the never ending blood lust that cursed his race and drove him to prey on the innocent citizens of Uschtenheim and the Sarafan vampire hunters who tormented him; the murders and anguished suicides of the Ancient vampire Guardians who once served the Pillars; his contradictory desire to see the world end if only to bring him rest.

_No, not to see it end,_ he harshly corrected himself. _To see Nosgoth reborn, the Pillars returned to vampire guardianship. Only then will my obligation be fulfilled. _

As the sky darkened Janos saw six silhouettes marching toward the lake with torches. The one in the lead wore black and gold armor adorned with feathery pauldrons and a winged helm. Behind him, a paladin armored in silver and gold dragged along a vampire fledgling by a chain connected to an iron cage, which had been locked onto her head like a bird cage. Her hands were chained behind her back. Marching beside them, an enormous man in a horned helmet carried a large stake. The other three followed, carrying torches. The light reflected off of their armor and scattered over the snow. One of them, clad in a gold tabard, carried a staff fashioned after a bronze serpent biting a purple orb.

These were the Sarafan Inquisitors, the highest ranking members of the Sarafan Order. Janos did not know much about them. He did not even know their names. All he knew was that they wanted to draw him out into the open and kill him just as they killed his grandchildren, the children of his son, Vorador.

As long as the Sarafan carried Moebius's staff attack would be futile. That purple orb would drop any vampire to their knees, defenseless in unspeakable agony, even an Ancient such as himself. He could not bear to watch them impale another of his grandchildren below his arie. The frozen earth below already bristled with corpses. He turned, took the Reaver from its case, and retreated deeper into the mountain, away from the screams of the helpless fledgling, and closed and locked the doors behind him. He felt like a coward, but there was hardly any choice in the matter. Sitting down in his chair with the Reaver in his lap, he took a clean cloth from a box on the table and gingerly wet it with oil. As he polished the blade he forced himself to think of other things.

"Why do you linger here? The Sarafan know where you are hiding. They will never stop hunting you."

"I know, but what can I do? My duty is to the Reaver," Janos said to no one.

"Take the Reaver with you, go deeper into the mountains. You have wings."

"No, I must remain here. This is where the prophecy is fulfilled."

"Fate is immutable, Janos."

Janos angrily swept the cloth along the length of the Reaver. "Do not lecture me."

"It is not a lecture. You are the one who schooled me in the Wheel of Fate. If such a thing truly exists, if we are all - as you say - bound to the Wheel, why should it matter where or how you whittle away the centuries? Your destiny will draw you back to this place when the time of prophecy is at hand. So why suffer?"

Janos inhaled deliberately. "You know nothing."

"You cannot reside here forever."

"I will abide for as long as it takes."

"At least help us fight. Our children are dying. If we cannot stop this slaughter, there will be no vampires left to guard the Pillars."

His hand paused on the blade. He bowed his head, eyes shut. "I... cannot... I am sorry."

"That is not enough." Janos's lips were tightly sealed. "How much longer can you endure this?"

"It is not the human's fault. Humans fear what they do not understand and hate what they fear. They are young, like children. Their resentment of our race will only grow if we do not treat them with a gentle hand."

"It is too late for that." Janos said nothing. The blood rising to his cheeks turned his blue skin a darker purple. Silently he prayed for Vorador to leave him in peace, but his son was stubbornly concerned. "If you stay here -"

"I will _not!"_ Janos erupted, turning on Vorador. His eyes widened, searching the room. The color fled from his cheeks. He was alone.

Janos gazed at his reflection in the Reaver. Dark shadows surrounded his eyes. Frightened, he placed the sword on the table and walked away. His pacing slowed. Bending, he pressed his hand to his chest, gritting his teeth as the Blood Curse burned his core. He had not fed in four days. Starvation alone was not enough to kill him, but the weakness and agony brought on by hunger were intolerable torture. Besides, he needed his strength to protect the Reaver. He would need to feed soon.

He understood why the other Ancients committed suicide to escape this curse. Although he would never admit to it, he despised them for abandoning him to stand vigil alone. He sighed heavily. Even if he had a target he would not allow himself to succumb to the temptations of anger. He could not truly say why the others died and he did not, but surrendering to negative emotions surely must have sped their decline. His gaze slowly returned to the Reaver.

Lifting the Reaver, he examined the blade in the candlelight. The sword hummed with vampiric energy; it too hungered for blood. Such a wicked thing, this weapon. He wondered why Kairos the Time Guardian commanded him to have it forged. Vorador created the Reaver under his guidance and Janos enchanted it using spells chosen by Kairos, but neither of them knew the sword's true purpose; only that it was forged for the Savior of Nosgoth, the Vampire Champion. Kairos told Janos (and Janos alone) the name of their savior:

Raziel.

"Redeemer and Destroyer; Pawn and Messiah..." Janos mouthed the prophecy. He frowned. Picking up a dry cloth, he wiped the oil from the blade until the Reaver gleamed with silver light. His eyes settled on the cross guard.

Why did Kairos insist on giving the Reaver a face? Carved from white jade, the vampiric skull glared at him. The blade extended from its upper jaw like a flicking tongue. Janos shook his head. "What grim company this is."


	5. Shadows - Ariel & Raziel

**Title: **Shadows of Our Former Selves

**Era:** Soul Reaver: 2000 APC

**Character(s):** Raziel and Ariel

**Genre: **Challenge/Friendship

**Rating: **K

**Summary:** Raziel takes a break from his rampage against the empire to talk with a friend. This story takes place after Raziel has killed Zephon and just before he visits the Tomb of the Sarafan. Think of it like a bonus scene for Wasteland Kingdom.

**Challenge:** Write multiple drabbles showing variation on a theme. The theme here is past, future, and change.

* * *

The spirit of the murdered Balance Guardian manifested in Kain's throne room in the Sanctuary of the Clans. Behind her, the Pillars of Nosgoth, which she and her fellow Guardians once protected, lay in ruins, a monument to Kain's ambition. She approached Raziel with a question: "Have you killed the parasite?"

_"Yes. He had no chance to escape; his body was fused to the walls of the cathedral itself. He was... deranged..."_ Raziel trailed off in thought, still slightly shaken by what he had seen. He had thought that none of his brothers could have suffered a worse fate than Melchiah.

Although Raziel despised the corpse he was forced to inhabit, after meeting his second brother he began to feel a twinge of gratitude that his execution had spared him from the horrors of evolution. He shuddered at the memory. If he had not known Zephon for a thousand years he never could have believed that that _cockroach_ once looked human.

He looked to the spirit, his friend and guide Ariel, as if she might hold answers. Despite her long confinement to the Pillars she seemed to know much about Nosgoth which he did not. Since his execution, Raziel had missed five hundred years of history. _"I don't understand. For a thousand years my brothers and I - even Kain only experienced minor changes. How could Zephon have reached that state in only five centuries?"_

Ariel lowered her eyes and faced the corrupted Pillars. The destroyed half of her face reflected the sorry state of the land and the Pillars of Nosgoth, a mere skeleton of her former self. Raziel stood beside her, gazing at Pillars' husks and jagged, broken crowns with a wrinkled brow. _"They've been like this for as long as I can remember..."_

The Pillars were supposedly more impressive in Kain's youth, but he always secretly believed that Kain's description of the pre-fallen Pillars was greatly exaggerated. They supposedly rose above the clouds. Surely, that was impossible.

"All of Nosgoth decays without the Pillars' magic: the earth, the sky, and all that lives between. Little by little the corruption slowly eats away at life, draining Nosgoth of its vitality while disease and disfigurement flourish and aberrations walk the land. The entropy increases. We all suffer as one."

Why would the health of Nosgoth be tied to a piece of masonry? He glanced at Ariel, noting her pained expression. When they were together he made a point of standing on her right side, the part of her face that still looked human. He felt no sense of disgust at her disfigurement. Indeed, he was in a far worse state: exposed, blue muscle, bleached white bones in plain sight, wings no more than flaps of skin, lower body hollowed out, his whole form mutilated and his eyes no more than glowing, white orbs. He simply did not want her to think he was staring.

_"You're very poetic, but I still don't see how killing Kain will make a difference with the Pillars in this state. The land outside the Sanctuary is dead, Ariel. There is not a single blade of grass."_

Ariel braced her hands together, fingers spread, as if in prayer. Her voice sounded detached. "There is always hope. Kain is the key."

That word put Raziel on guard. Hope had done nothing for him. Since his exit from the abyss weeks ago his spirit had been broken countless times. Believing in hope only deepened these wounds. When hope failed, it was like another betrayal. He studied Ariel carefully.

_"If release is what you want, there may be another way. __I have not been called 'angel of death' for nothing."_ He lightly tapped his cowl where his mouth should have been. His bright eyes managed to communicate a meek benevolence.

She almost seemed to consider his alternative. Two-thousand years was a long time to spend in limbo. After several seconds she slowly turned away, head bowed. Her long blonde hair flowed against gravity. "I may only leave this place once my purpose is fulfilled."

Did she mean it was impossible? Or was she simply refusing? With her back turned to him, Raziel could not read her expression. He scanned the symbols on the walls of Kain's circular throne room, the marks of the clans: Melchiahim, Zephonim, Rahabim, Dumahim, Turelim, and... Razielim. The Sanctuary was mournfully silent, devoid of the constant ebb and flow of activity of vampires and human slaves that had sustained it during the height of Kain's empire.

He squared his shoulders, inadvertently showing his militaristic upbringing. _"Kain's jealousy and greed damned us both. I may not be able to save my clan or myself - perhaps not even Nosgoth - but there is something I can do for you, Ariel. When all of this is over, I promise I will do whatever it takes to set you free."_

As Ariel gazed at him he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eye. Yet this time, something felt different. The way she stared at him made him feel like he was being mistaken for someone else. A warm, new emotion cast a faint light over her usual gloom; not gratitude, something more. Reverence? His posture shrank, suddenly terribly uneasy. Although he meant what he said, her sudden admiration felt woefully undeserved and he began to second guess himself. _"If I can, of course."_

He backed away as Ariel drifted closer to him, wary of her outstretched hand. Sensing his displeasure she abruptly withdrew and cupped her hand to her chest almost protectively. Raziel's eyes shimmered as he watched her wither. He had not intended to upset her.

Hesitatingly, he took one step forward. This was the closest they had ever been. When she met his gaze he realized that her eyes had once been a silvery shade of blue-grey.

She gently touched his shoulder. He almost flinched, expecting the raw muscle to sting on contact, but her hand felt cool and soft. She must have been beautiful when she was alive. "There is something you need to see. Go west of the Pillars. Near the shore of the Lake of Tears, you will find a crumbling tomb, the site of an ancient blasphemy. Like a corpse in a shallow grave, the defiled victim mutely screams its outrage."

Her words barely registered. This was the first physical contact he had experienced since his execution that did not involve impalement, gouging, or brute impact. It surprised him that it did not hurt. _"Ariel, I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Can't you be direct, for once?"_

"You must see this with your own eyes. Soon your true purpose will become clear..." The Balance Guardian's spirit began to fade.

_"My_ true _purpose? Wait, what do you mean?" _As she vanished, Ariel whispered something he couldn't make out. He tried to grab her, but she was already gone. He staggered as if disoriented and searched the throne room with his eyes. There was no sign of her, though he lingered to be sure.

Turning to go, Raziel rubbed his shoulder bitterly where she touched him. The Lake of Tears, she said. There was once a large cemetery there, similar to Melchiah's Necropolis, and a massive tomb dedicated to the vile memory of the Sarafan Crusaders, the scourge of Nosgoth's vampires. Appropriately, it had fallen into ruin centuries before his execution. He wondered what Ariel expected him to find.


	6. Remembered in Death - Ariel & Moebius

**Title:** Remembered in Death, AKA Shadows of Our Former Selves Part II

**Era:** Sarafan: 485 BPC

**Character(s):** Moebius & Ariel

**Genre:** Challenge

**Rating:** K+

**Summary: **A 15 year old Ariel goes exploring in the Sarafan Stronghold and comes across a memorial. While she admires it, her solitude is interrupted.

**Challenge:** Write multiple drabbles showing variation on a theme. The theme here is past, future, and change.

* * *

The man had a strong, handsome face. He held his head high and his marble eyes challenged the horizon. Under his left arm he carried a winged helm and in his right hand a short sword. The young Balance Guardian bent to read the inscription on the gold plaque. Her white dress flowed around her ankles.

_Those who wait for the Lord shall find their strength renewed, they shall mount up on wings like eagles, they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not grow faint._

- RAZIEL -

Head Inquisitor of the Sarafan Order  
Righteous Protector of the Circle of Nine

"Raziel..." she mouthed the name curiously. Sort of a gaudy name, she thought. She tilted her head back and let her eyes slowly roam up the statue and tried to imagine the man in life. Dark hair, deep blue eyes, strong arms. She touched his wrist, feeling the rings of chain mail. The statue's gauntlets were beautifully detailed. Although the stone felt cold and solid, Ariel imagined the soft hands behind these gauntlets in all their detail, from his smooth and well-groomed fingernails to the cryptic lines of his palms. A warm smile touched her pink lips.

The unmistakable voice of the Time Guardian echoed through the chamber: "Ah, the glory days of the Sarafan!"

Her lips pressed together in a hard thin line. She turned her head, her blonde locks falling over her shoulder. She nervously brushed them away. "Good morning, Moebius."

The Time Guardian shuffled toward her dressed in robes of purple and gold, using that curious staff of his as a walking stick. Five years ago, when her mother and father left her at the Sarafan Stronghold to learn the duties of a Balance Guardian, Moebius was first to greet her. In the absense of the other Guardians he seemed to have taken on leadership. Mortanius, the Death Guardian, still treated Moebius as if he held the highest authority in the Circle, a fact which would have set Ariel against him even if he was not also possessed of a loathsome personality.

He stopped beside her, one arm folded behind his back, his milky eyes on the statue. The first time they met Ariel mistook him for blind; a grave mistake. Her friend Napraptor, the Mind Guardian, warned her to be wary of him. He was ancient, the oldest of the Guardians, although he did not look it, and his mind was a labyrinth of endless twists and turns. His body was middle-aged, frail and lacking in color, yet for a man rumored to have lived for thousands of years he was uncannily spry. Ariel glanced at the statue. "Did you know him?"

"I did indeed. We were quite close. When I met him he was but an initiate. Even as a young man, he had the courage to seek power and the wisdom to find it. Over the years he often came to me for advice and we developed a strong friendship. I'd like to think I had a hand in creating the man became. Sadly, he died before he reached his full potential. So it goes."

Her throat tightened slightly when she heard. Poor man to die unfulfilled like that. If he could see how he was revered, she wondered if it would calm his spirit. "How did he die?"

"Slain by a wretched demon while defending the Heart of Darkness. It happened on that tragic night..."

Ariel lowered her eyes. The Circle spoke of that night in hushed tones, the night that wicked vampire, Vorador, infiltrated the Stronghold and murdered six Guardians. Only Moebius and Mortanius survived. Malek, the Conflict Guardian, also survived that night, but after the punishment Mortanius inflicted upon him Ariel hesitated to call him alive. She crossed her arms over her chest for warmth. Did the other young Guardians also feel ashamed at the mention of that night? "The night I was born."

She felt Moebius's spidery fingers settle upon her shoulder. She tried not to grimace. "Oh, my dear," he cooed, deceptively soft. "Such is the fate of all Pillar Guardians. When Phoebe died you were born to replace her, just as she was born to replace the Balance Guardian before her and so on through time to the genesis of the Pillars. It will be the same for you when you die."

_When you die. _He_ knows. _

Ariel shuddered and forcefully stepped out of his grasp. "I don't like it when you talk about death," she hissed like a kitten.

"There's nothing for you to worry about. Not right now," he said, not-so-innocently amused. "Death comes for us all, Balance Guardian. I foretold my own death centuries ago. You would be wise to make peace with the Wheel of Fate."

"I don't want to know when I'm going to die!" She glared at him. She turned her back to him with a heavy sigh and crossed her arms. Her eyes stung with tears. "Go away, Moebius. I don't want you here."

"All mortals fear time, my dear." The Time Guardian regarded her with a thoughtful, sliverlike smile. "Once you have lived a century or two you will find benefit in my counsel. However, since you insist, my Balance Guardian, I will leave you in peace."

As she heard him leave she quickly wiped the tears from her eyes with her knuckles and sniffed back the ones still threatening to fall. Damn him. She glanced at the statue of Head Inquisitor Raziel, scoffed, then looked away. "What fool would call him 'friend'?"

Sunlight trickled down from the stained glass windows. Standing in its warm embrace, Ariel opened her eyes and slowly turned her eyes upon the statue again. He looked so noble, strong, and pure of heart. Nothing at all like the man who replaced him. The new Head Inquisitor frightened her almost as much as Malek in his disembodied suit of armor. Gazing up at him, she inhaled and held herself as tightly as she dared.


	7. I Forgot Myself - Raziel

**Title: **I Forgot Myself, AKA Shadows of Our Former Selves, Part III

**Era:** Soul Reaver: 2000 APC

**Character(s):** Raziel

**Genre: **Challenge

**Rating: **K+

**Summary:** Following Ariel's instructions, Raziel goes to the Sarafan Tomb and makes a startling discovery.

**Challenge:** Write multiple drabbles showing variation on a theme. The theme here is past, future, and change.

* * *

The sarcophagus lay vacant. Its lid leaned on the ground, draped in grey cobwebs and dead spiders.

Blue light flowed off the wraith blade, casting concrete shadows inside the stone box. The crypt was so dark even Raziel had difficulty seeing. He brushed his claws against the bottom and rolled the dust between his fingers. As he explored the inside of the coffin, his hand came across something thin and frail, an ancient piece of cloth. It crumbled at his touch. He flinched, sorry to have disturbed it, and guiltily backed away from the coffin.

The light of the wraith blade enveloped him, shielding him from the bleak darkness that surrounded his cadaverous form.

There were six coffins in this room. Six coffins - six Sarafan. Each one bore the name of its occupant.

One said:

- MELCHIAH -

High Priest of the Sarafan Order  
Holy Light of the Circle of Nine

Another read:

- TUREL -

Second Inquisitor of the Sarafan Order  
Steadfast Brother of the Circle of Nine

Zephon, Rahab, and Dumah were also memorialized here, warriors of the Sarafan's genocidal crusade and loyal pawns of the Circle. Engraved with the names of his brothers, these hollow stone shells, as Ariel put it, mutely screamed their defilement.

Like the others in this tomb, the coffin which Raziel stood before had been placed in an alcove in the wall decorated with unique carvings. Two phoenixes spread their wings, screeching with talons poised to strike on either side of a name plate. Ornate letters spelled out an epitaph:

_Those who wait for the Lord shall find their strength renewed, they shall mount up on wings like eagles, they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not grow faint._

- RAZIEL -

Head Inquisitor of the Sarafan Order  
Righteous Protector of the Circle of Nine

Raziel remembered his first night on Nosgoth. Everything was dark. He was in a cold, confined space and the air smelled of dust, age, and death. Someone - Kain - helped him to his feet and welcomed him to the world. His maker was intimidating and strong yet also genial with a voice that crackled like a warm hearth. There was confusion at first, but when Kain spoke he felt suddenly at home. Kain was proud of him, proud of his creation. Someone put a blanket around him and led him up some stairs and down a long corridor. Time had altered this place, and though his memories were hazy, that long corridor now seemed eerily similar to the one he had so recently traversed to reach this chamber.

The revelation struck him with a dull thud. Raziel felt as numb and mute as he had when his disfigured corpse settled at the bottom of the Lake of the Dead. He could not believe the evidence before his eyes. And yet he had to. It explained so much. Why did a sword feel so right in his hands? Why were his reflexes so keen? He had known things, like how to read and write, skills reserved for Nosgoth's nobility, yet he could not remember his mother's face.

He could not remember his mother's face... That thought never caused him such disconcertion. Kain remembered his human life. So did Kain's vampire allies. Raziel own children remembered their human lives as well, although some remembered more than others. Why could he remember so little? There was a time when he asked himself this question frequently, but as the empire rose and fell it faded from his mind. Face to face with his own grave, the evidence of his former humanity, Raziel felt, for the first time, that he had been robbed of something.

During their age, the Sarafan hunted Nosgoth's vampires almost to extinction. Their genocidal crusade represented the antithesis of all Raziel believed. Even as his hatred of his brothers burned, he desired only to kill them and anyone that stood in his way, not to wipe out vampires entirely. And yet he found himself consistently pushed to do this thing he despised. Did Ariel, like his Benefactor, believe that his purpose was to rid Nosgoth of his former kin? No. He could not accept that. Kain raised him to kill without remorse, but Raziel still believed in an eye for an eye. He had no right to take the lives of those vampires who had not wronged him.

His eyes gleamed on the words 'righteous protector.' From the moment Kain raised him from the grave Raziel had prided himself on honor and morality. He had not killed his brothers in cold blood. He gave each of them the chance to defend themselves, to die with dignity, although they had shown him no such courtesy. Perhaps this was what Ariel truly meant for him to find; that deep inside, he still possessed a faint spark of humanity, and that he must preserve it with all his might.

But what did it mean to have humanity? By his very nature, should he not despise all vampires equally?

Raziel's mind ran in circles. He felt as though he could collapse at any moment. Ariel had been kind to him, yes, but she clearly had her own agenda. Kain's strong distaste for the former Balance Guardian was one of the factors that initially drew Raziel to her, yet the reason for Kain's feeling was ominous: Ariel had misled him about his role as Balance Guardian. Up until that fatal moment just before the Pillars collasped, Kain had no idea that he would be forced to choose between self sacrifice to preserve Nosgoth or self preservation at the cost of the Pillars' destruction. She used Kain as her pawn and trapped him at the last moment, believing that she could corner him into choosing the outcome that she desired. Or was that a lie, too? Whom was he to believe?

He touched his forehead, features taut, brushing back the mess of his black hair with a weary sigh,_ "I need to get out of this tomb..."_

Outside, Raziel leaned his lanky corpse against a broken wall, thinking. His tattered wings hung from his back like sheets of parchment, unmoving in the dead air, and his cowl bunched loosely around his mostly intact upper jaw, the symbols of his clan obscured in the wrinkled fabric, exposing the tip of his nose and the black marks on his cheeks; a blue shadow in an abandoned tomb.

This part of the mausoleum, which may have once been an area for visiting pilgrims to sit and reflect, no longer had any roof, leaving him exposed beneath Nosgoth's polluted sky. A vague inscription attached to a name in stone was all that remained of the man buried here. There were no stars to see, only vaster darkness interrupted by the cool glow of the wraith blade and Raziel's unearthly white eyes.


	8. Onward and Upward - Kain

**Title: **Onward and Upward, AKA Shadows of Our Former Selves Part IV (Final)

**Era:** Blood Omen: 30 APC

**Character(s):** Kain

**Genre: **Challenge

**Rating: **K+

**Summary:** A few days after the Pillars' collapse, the fledgling vampire Kain, Nosgoth's newest Balance Guardian, lies in his mausoleum and ponders what he's done. This story is somewhat different from the others in this series. Note that at this point in Nosgoth's timeline Raziel is in the Soul Reaver due to time travel shenanigans, but the young Kain is unaware of this, as he will not raise Raziel for another 500-ish years. Read "Notable Paradox 1: The Reaver Paradox" and "Notable Paradox 2: William's Paradox" on my profile if you're confused.

**Challenge:** Write multiple drabbles showing variation on a theme. The theme here is past, future, and change.

* * *

"No."

One word. That was all it took to topple the world.

It started with an earthquake. Not any ordinary earthquake. The ground jumped out from under him and trees came crashing down - but the loudest noise in the clearing was the unearthly shrieking of Ariel, the ghost of the previous Balance Guardian, clutching her ears and writhing in the air like a snake with its head cut off. Then with a bone-shuddering crack the towering Pillars of Nosgoth split and splintered vertically, upward and upward beyond his sight, and exploded, unleashing a shock-wave that knocked him off his feet in full plate mail and made the trees bend like saplings in a hurricane. For several seconds after the shock-wave subsided the fragments of the corrupted Pillars hung in the air, motionless like bubbles trapped in ice. Without a sound the highest fragment started to fall, then the next and the next on down to the base. The sight was so terrifying that he actually started to run before he remembered he could fly.

Thunder rattled the mausoleum. Three days had come and gone since the Pillars' collapse. The storm raging outside seemed to be Nosgoth's final death rattle.

Since Mortanius raised him from the dead his mausoleum had become a comfortable lair. He even put up curtains. Well, not curtains exactly. There were no windows deep in the earth. It sort of cheered the place up, though. Lying in his coffin, Kain felt his eyes drawn to the portrait on the wall. That was him, not long ago. His hair was dark then. Although no lovely shade of ebony, he preferred its former color to its current shade of silver-grey. Sometimes he wanted to rip that painting apart. He couldn't bring himself to; it used to be one of his favorites.

Kain examined Vorador's signet ring in the torch light, holding it high above his head. The ring was forged from a solid piece of polished steel and styled with blood red runes. When the light struck the edge it flashed. It was all that remained of his mentor after Moebius beheaded him in front of the crowd at Stahlberg.

The clothes Kain now wore were stolen from the bedchamber of Prince William - now odiously remembered as Prince William the Just. Fit for a young king, they felt good against his cold skin. He so tired of wearing armor all the time. Damn his father for burying him in his armor. Not even his _best_ suit of armor. It was iron for god's sake! All things considered, these fresh clothes were the only positive outcome of his little foray through time, which had led irrevocably to Vorador's capture by Moebius's cutthroat mob of vampire hunters and the near extinction of his race. He draped the back of his hand over his eyes with a hard sigh, still holding Vorador's ring. He rolled it over his thumb and index finger and scowled with his fangs.

That damned barkeep was the cause of all this. If he had given him room at his inn, none of this would have happened. The next time he visited Ziegsturhl he would burn that whole godforsaken backwater town to the ground.

Kain leapt from his coffin and grabbed his coat off the wall, which he had hung on the handle of a dagger jammed deep into the stone. He threw it on and went outside.

Icy sheets of rain pelted the cemetery. Lightning stroked the land. It had been this way since the Pillars fell. The cemetery grounds were little more than mud. Even if the rain let up it would be impossible for him to leave on foot, unless he wanted his feet to burn off above the ankle. Fortunately, his mausoleum had withstood the deluge so far. He could only pray the flood-waters would not reach him. Standing at the top of the steps under an overhang, Kain watched Nosgoth drown impassively.

Life used to be so simple. He had a warm manor waiting for him in Coorhagen, enough capital to sustain his roaming lifestyle indefinitely, countless adventures ahead of him, any woman he wanted; total freedom. Now he wasn't sure what he had. This might be Armageddon. All because of one, little word.

He could not articulate why he had said that word. Had he fully understood the consequences, he could not imagine he would have acted any differently. He had no grand plan, no cunning strategy. He just wanted to live. Being the last vampire in Nosgoth was still better than being dead. The wind whipped at his long hair.

He had accepted Mortanius's offer of resurrection for revenge. For her cryptic promise of release from Mortanius's curse, he had agreed to hunt down the corrupted members of the Circle of Nine for Ariel and slay them to restore their Pillars. Only when this task was complete had Ariel revealed to him the identity of the final Guardian, the corrupted Guardian of Balance he had promised to destroy in order to be freed from this vampiric unlife. As it turned out Ariel had a rather different definition of 'free.' After she had deceived him for so long, did she truly expect him to say yes?

The wind shifted and splashed rain at Kain's feet. He backed away in distaste and retreated into his mausoleum. As he came down the stairs into his crypt he happened to glance at his weapon rack. He stopped and narrowed his eyes. The Soul Reaver was doing that thing again, its eyes all aglow with blue fox-fire. "What are you, hungry? We're all hungry but it's too wet to go outside," he barked at the soul devouring sword.

He stormed across the room and hunched on the edge of his coffin with his hands limp between his knees. He would rather be hungry than bored, but he was both. Although he had taken a liking to the condition he once called a 'curse' there remained certain inconveniences to being a vampire, all of which he despised. If he had the power he would re-make the world in his favor: no sun, little rain, and all the blood he could drink. A paradise for his kind.

Damn Ariel. Damn Moebius. Damn the Circle. Damn them all.

He propped his chin on his hand and rapped his fingers against his knee while the Soul Reaver fumed at him. He cocked an eyebrow at it questioningly.

Tales of the legendary sword had circulated Nosgoth for centuries. Kain first heard mention of it as a young man in Coorhagen while out drinking with friends. After the death of his wife he decided to take up knighthood and began roaming the land as a mercenary, hearing more tales of the Soul Reaver as he traveled, rumors so outrageous they convinced him the sword could not exist.

The Soul Reaver could bend time, they said. Indestructible, impossible to dull. The sword was alive, possessed by a soul devouring specter. It tore the souls from its victims with demonic ferocity, rending body and spirit in a shower of blood. Whosoever wielded the Soul Reaver became invincible in battle. These things were mostly true.

Kain strode across the room and lifted the Soul Reaver from the weapons rack. The eyes of the white jade skull spat cold fire at him. Strange how this sword felt so _right_ in his hands. Perfectly balanced, in fact. The finest swordsmith in Nosgoth could not forge a weapon so attuned to him. This could not be a coincidence.

"Hm?" He glanced upward, brow furrowed. Something was wrong. The rain was...

He sprinted up the stairs with the Soul Reaver in hand and shoved open the stone doors. He froze at the top of the stairs, aghast. The rain had stopped completely. Water dripped from the roof of his mausoleum and still puddles littered the muddy earth, transforming the cemetery into a swamp of mirrors. Golden beams of sunlight pierced the clouds in the distance. Kain slowly started to smile. The worst was over - or so it seemed. He would give it another day to let the water dry up.

The question was, what should he do now? The Pillars were gone and their Guardians, the most powerful sorcerers and sorceresses in Nosgoth, dead all except for him, the last Pillar Guardian and vampire standing. He leaned the Soul Reaver against his shoulder and looked at it thoughtfully.


	9. Not Heartless - Kain & Raziel

**Title:** Not Heartless

**Era:** Post-Defiance: 2000 APC or 1 NE

**Character(s):** Kain & Raziel

**Genre:** Family/Hurt/Comfort/Humor

**Rating:** K+

**Summary:** A scene I've had in my head since I started writing Time Streamer. No spoilers. Takes place between chapters 1 and 2 of Time Streamer. Two days after his resurrection, Raziel still has not awoken from his coma and Kain finally tries to intervene to wake him. They share a father-son moment. Later, Raziel remembers this incident only vaguely and incorrectly.

* * *

According to the house slave Kain had commanded to watch over Raziel, his son had not so much as twitched since he passed out two days ago. He had no intention of leaving Raziel in a comatose state indefinitely, as Vorador had done to him centuries ago. Up until now Kain had been too busy with internal politics to intervene. Since he found himself with a break in the chaos, he supposed he should take some time out to try to bring his son back to life. "Raziel! Get up. You've been lazing around long enough, it's time for us to get to work."

No response? Kain tried opening one of Raziel's eyes. His eyes were completely rolled back, nothing but white. Maybe a little pain would get his attention. He tried twisting Raziel's ear, but Raziel only emitted a weak gasp of protest. Kain growled under his breath. It looked like he would need to fix this himself. He removed the Soul Reaver from its sheath on his back and leaned it against the wall near the bed, yelling at his house slave to fetch him a filled blood cauldron and a goblet.

If Raziel was a lesser vampire he would have left his health in the hands of his house slave. The very idea that one of his lowly slaves should lay hands upon his son repulsed him.

The smell of blood elicited no response. Of course, Raziel was still not breathing. Perhaps he needed encouragement.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Kain propped Raziel up against the headboard and held him in a sitting position with his head leaned back. Tilting the goblet, he carefully dripped a few drops of blood onto Raziel's parted lips. One of the droplets slid into his mouth. At first nothing happened. After a second or two his mouth gave a small twitch. His tongue peeked out, trying to reach the blood on his lips. "Raziel, can you hear me?"

Still no response. Kain frowned. He put the cup to Raziel's lips and gently tilted back. A little bit of blood dribbled down the sides of Raziel's face. Cringing, Kain scooped up the excess with the lip of the goblet while Raziel swallowed what he could.

Kain waited a moment and tried again. Once again the result was more mess than success and it went on this way for some time before Raziel finally remembered how to use his throat. His eyes opened a fraction. They flickered around the room, eying Kain hazily for a moment, but when the goblet touched his lips he began to drink vigorously, like a fledgling. As Kain was about to hand the goblet back to his house slave to be re-filled Raziel abruptly grabbed him by the wrist. Startled, Kain flinched and attempted to pull away, fangs bared. Before he could deliver a reprimand Raziel started babbling:

"T-the S-soul Reaver... pure of..." he choked, trailing off in confusion. For some reason he sounded as though he had not used his voice in a long time. "You... have t-to... _use me_... t-to... to kill... that... Monster..."

"Yes, Raziel, I know. It is finished," Kain said, relaxing slightly. For a second he actually thought Raziel meant to attack him. With a quick jerk he managed to free his wrist from Raziel's grip and hand the goblet off to his house slave. While he waited for him to fill it from the cauldron, his son gripped the strap of his cape, clinging him like he expected to fall to the ground; impossible, because they were sitting. Kain sighed mildly and took the goblet back. "You've really lost the plot this time, haven't you?"

Raziel finished this helping of blood in a matter of seconds. Judging by his current state, Kain had a feeling Raziel would empty the whole cauldron before his strength returned. His son coughed. A little bit of blood sprayed on Kain's chest. His house slave nervously handed him a handkerchief to clean up the mess. "W-where is it?" Raziel wheezed.

"Where is what?" Kain said, puzzled. Raziel seemed half out of his mind.

"S-sword." Eyes unfocused, he tried to look up at him, pleading, "Y-you must let me... become..."

"I already told you, that's over! What is wrong with you?"

"K-kain..."

"No-!"

"-the Reaver... I can..."

"I know, Raziel! I know." Seizing Raziel by the cheeks, he forced him to meet his eyes. Too weak to resist, Raziel hissed in pain. "Look at me. Look! That is all finished. Done. Over. The Oracle is dead. Gone. Forever. We won. Understand?"

Raziel groaned and Kain released him with a roll of his eyes. Pointless. He pushed the re-filled goblet to Raziel's mouth to make him drink. "The things I go through for you, honestly. It's embarrassing. We have to do something about your hero complex."

"Kain..."

"If this is about that damn sword -"

"No, n-no..." He swallowed hard, body tensing. He seemed to be building up to something. "I s-should have lis-stened t-to you in Avernus. Janos... I-I... tried to... he's... they... but I _c-couldn't_... I... couldn't..."

Kain arched a brow as he listened to him stammer. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to finish that sentence and his voice strained with emotion the longer he went on, until soon sounded like he would start crying. Finally, Kain sighed. "Yes, I know about that, too. Drink this."

Raziel refused the goblet. He murmured something. It was hard to make out with his voice so thin and cut-up, but it sounded almost like "-to know I'm sorry" or "Janos, I'm sorry."

"For ripping out my beating heart? Hmph, you should be. I tried to tell you I had everything under control. Drink this, here." He forced the cup to his son's quivering lips. Raziel clutched at his wrist again, as if to steady himself, and gulped down the blood. While Raziel drank, Kain had a moment to reflect. Grudgingly, he added, "Actually, that worked out for the better in the end. Moebius would have had me at his mercy if I had that damn thing in my chest when I confronted him in the Citadel. But you still should have listened to me. You're a lot of trouble. So... I had the Heart of Darkness the entire time. Fancy that."

Raziel swallowed the last of the blood and loosened his grip on Kain's wrist. As Kain handed the goblet to his house slave, Raziel leaned his head against Kain's cold shoulder, exhausted but composed. Explaining, he said dryly, "Mortanius..."

"No surprise," Kain replied acidly. He wondered briefly about the Necromancer's motivations. Now that he knew they had met in the past, perhaps Raziel could tell him more about Mortanius's intentions after his strength returned. Maybe Raziel could tell him how he was still alive without a heart, too. He was rather curious about that.

Kain pushed the goblet into his hand and tried to get him to feed himself. Raziel almost dropped it. "Do I have to do everything for you?" Kain growled, helping his son hold onto the cup while he drank. "I don't recall you dragging your feet like this when you crawled out of the abyss. As a matter of fact, you came _running_ for me. Now here you are, whole as the day you were born, and you can't even feed yourself. You're lucky I don't let you starve."

Raziel said nothing. Kain carried on enthusiastically, "Can you even comprehend all that I've done for you? My entire empire - in ruins - hundreds of vampires dead - all because of you. I defied the fates themselves trying to secure a better future for us both and you threw it all away on the end of my sword. What do you have to say for yourself?" He scoffed in self-satisfaction, "I thought as much. You're an ungrateful bastard."

He tried to get Raziel to drink more. This time he turned his head to the side, lips tightly sealed, and closed his eyes against him. Kain smirked. "Finished already? Fine. More for me." He tilted back the goblet, finishing it and wiping his lips on the back of his glove.

Kain watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say something smart, but after about a minute Raziel's features slowly started to relax and his head slumped against his shoulder. He seemed to have passed out again. Fate had been unkind to Raziel; she had destroyed him countless times, yet even in smiling upon him she had abandoned him on death's door and left Kain - of all people - to nurse him back to health. He eased Raziel back onto the mattress and stood, casting a glance at his house slave and thrusting the empty goblet at him. "Clean these out and then get back to watching him. Call me immediately when he wakes up."

Returning the Soul Reaver to its sheath, Kain left the room. In the hallway, after he heard the house slave leave, he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway.

* * *

**AN:** Some people may be confused about the Heart of Darkness in this drabble, so here's a quick explanation. The Heart of Darkness, as it was christened, was taken from the corpse of Janos Audron by the Sarafan Inquisitors. The Heart later vanished mysteriously and eventually made its way into the hands of the Death Guardian, Mortanius, who used it to resurrect Kain and turn him into a vampire. Raziel later killed the elder Kain in Avernus and used the heart to revive Janos, which resulted in a lot of bad things happening, including a very bad game called Blood Omen 2.

Another thing of note is how Kain was able to survive without the Heart. When Raziel activated the Spirit forge at the end of Defiance, the forge summoned the spirit of every Balance Guardian - including Kain. As the Heart was still intact Kain's body remained viable and his spirit tethered to it, so the forge was forced to summon his body and spirit. At the forge, when Raziel used the Spirit Reaver on Kain, it healed the wound in his chest and supposedly fixed that whole "no heart" problem. I _think._ O_o

Finally, a word on Raziel's condition. Raziel was resurrected when Kain used the Soul Reaver to restore the Pillars. The Pillars, sensing Raziel's spirit within the blade, separated him from the sword and used his memories of his vampire body to build him a new body, expending so much energy in the process that Raziel was left very nearly dead, like a battery with barely any charge. The wraith blade, Raziel's twin soul, is still in the Soul Reaver and has been separated from Raziel, because the wraith blade has no memory of its original physical body after eons trapped within the Reaver.


	10. A Corpse Takes a Shower - Raziel

**Title:** A Corpse Takes a Shower

**Era:** Early-Blood Omen/Soul Reaver 2: 1 APC

**Character(s):** Raziel

**Genre:** Challenge/Humor

**Rating:** K+

**Summary: **"There's a _third_ option - a monumental secret, hidden in your very presence here. But it's a secret you have to discover for yourself," said the elder Kain. After the events of Soul Reaver, Raziel chased the elder Kain into Nosgoth's past and met him at the Pillars on the day of their corruption. Intrigued by Kain's mysterious third opinion for restoring the Pillars, Raziel rain-checks his vengeance and sets out to uncover the secrets of Nosgoth's past and the truth behind his enigmatic destiny. Why did Raziel allow his vengeance to be delayed by Kain's cryptic monologue? What secrets will he uncover? These are all very interesting questions... that will not be answered in this drabble! Instead, Raziel takes a shower and something silly happens.

**Challenge: **Alright, I'm excited for this one. I want you to write a shower scene. Yup! A shower scene! Here's the catch: No sex. In fact, no slash of any sort. Make this the most awkward shower scene ever. Or maybe your characters don't mind being in the shower together. Or maybe someone comes to kill them. Whatever! Make it work! One or two-shot. PM me when you put it up! Be creative and have fun! - issued by LeahisaDinosaur

* * *

Warm sunlight bristled through the amber trees as a lone, blue figure trekked through the wilderness. Orange and red leaves fluttered in the breeze and littered the ground. The autumn colors crunched under his cloven feet and rusted bronze boots. Bone-white claws scratched at his stained cowl. His bright white eyes searched his surroundings. Was this Nosgoth centuries before Kain's empire?

Attracted by the sound of running water, Raziel came to a small cliff where a stream trickled into a shallow pool. Tiny fish swam in the clear water, their scales gleaming.

Raziel's cadaverous figure cast strange shadows on the forest floor. He felt like such a contrast in this land. Whereas Nosgoth's present time period seemed like an open grave, here in the past Raziel truly felt like the walking dead, particularly as he was now; covered in the blood of Moebius's vampire hunters, his blue muscles filthy with Nosgoth's rich, dark soil, his black, tangled hair smelling strongly of gunpowder.

Shifting the ruined, boneless flaps of his wings to one side so that he would not sit on them, he sat down on a large stone near the edge of the pool and started to take off his boots. Their buckles were rusted shut, but with some tender loving care (read: brute force) he managed to free his right foot. As he removed the leather and armor he flinched at what he saw. There was still some skin attached to his ankle. He touched the white patch and sighed softly. At least it did not hurt. For reasons he could not express, seeing the last vestige of his flesh made him wary of getting into the water.

Shaking his head, he unbuckled his other boot and dipped his feet in the pool. This was ridiculous. He should not be afraid of his own reflection. As he peered into the water, he hooked his claws over the rim of his cowl and slowly pulled it down. The teeth showed themselves first, the massive white fangs that once tasted blood. With no lips he seemed to be grinning. Nothing could be further from the truth. The back of his throat revealed itself where his bottom jaw should have been. There was no tongue and no uvula, simply a hole of muscle filled by his spine. He laid his cowl across his lap and stared at himself in the water. The dark burn marks that surrounded his glowing eyes extended down to the sides of his jaw like black tear streaks. He touched them and tried to rub the blackness away like charcoal. Apparently, they would not come off. His brow furrowed deeply.

He tilted his head at his reflection self-critically. Lately the fact of the matter, which was that no amount of vengeance could fix what he had become, had started to sink in. His attitude toward his appearance was now in transition from disgust to bitter apathy tinged with morbid curiosity. It wasn't as if he was trying to impress anyone with his good looks. At least, not anymore.

Honestly, what was the point? He investigated his exposed pallet with his thumb claw. It felt dry and smooth, like bone.

He tried to take off his gauntlets and winced. He started to examine them more closely in an attempt to discern why it hurt when he tried to remove them, but after a moment decided he would rather not know. They were probably burned onto what could laughingly be called his flesh. He shook his dismembered head and gave a hollow chuckle. _"At least you still have... well..."_ He glanced at the waterfall and scratched at his grimy dark hair. _"Your hair, apparently. I suppose I should at least wash the dirt out."_

Having thus convinced himself that there was some merit in this silly idea, he left his cowl on the rocks and waded into the water.

The pool became shallow near the falls. He tensed slightly as he stepped under the frigid water. It was not the temperature that made him uncomfortable. He rubbed his bony claws through his hair gently, afraid that it would fall out if he applied too much pressure. To his surprise he found that his hair was almost as healthy as it had been when he was alive (or rather, when he was a vampire) if a bit coarse and dried out. How his hair endured what most of his organs could not did not matter in the least to him. Getting rid of all of the dirt and grime actually felt good. It was almost enough to make him forget about his ghoulish appearance, if only for a moment.

Red water trickled through his ribs. The water splashed onto his hollowed out pelvis and drained where white bone and blue muscle parted ways. He was not aware of how much blood he had picked up during his latest confrontation with Moebius's vampire hunters. Most of it had soaked into his gauntlets and already dark hair. Suddenly something caught his attention. He paused and looked down at himself, placing a clawed hand to his ribcage.

There was definitely something inside of him. He suspected it earlier, but now he was certain. The sensation of water moving through his rib cage was by now quite familiar to him. Something felt off.

Abandoning his physical body for the Spectral Realm always solved the problem in the past. It was a whole lot of trouble to go through to escape a minor annoyance. With water rushing through him, he was able to pinpoint the exact location of the offending object. Curious, he decided to try a different approach.

Turning to face the rocks, he braced himself against them and plunged his right hand into his ribcage from below. He grunted, finding the sensation uncomfortable - more unusual than anything he had ever experienced - but not painful.

Well, this solved one mystery: he was not entirely hollow after all. Was this his heart he was feeling? Or part of a lung? Or _both? _Whatever they were, they had been burned to a state that left them lumpy and hard as stone. They felt ugly and deformed. He almost wanted to rip them out. What harm could it do anyway? It would only make him lighter.

His claws touched something smooth near where his left lung should have been. With tender loving care (read: brute force) he managed to tear it free from his insides and extract it through the bottom of his ribcage. He held up his trophy and let the water wash over it. It was the steel point of a spear.

Raziel felt himself smile in amusement and satisfaction. Of course, he could not actually smile. He did not have much in the way of a face with which to smile. It was a phantom feeling. Unbeknownst to him, his pleasure showed a little in his glowing eyes.

He flicked the spearhead over his shoulder and bent forward to wash the rest of the grime out of his hair. The water felt quite good on the remains of his wings, which still retained some of their former sensitivity to touch. He would much rather be back in his city with some pretty slave girl massaging warm oil into his wings. Oh, he could almost smell the sweet lavender. Those were the days. Saddened, he shook the thought away.

Wading back to the shore, he noticed something amiss. His boots were there where he left them but his cowl was not. Perhaps the wind had blown it somewhere. He searched the area to no avail. The thought that he might have lost the last remnant of his clan made him feel as though he still had a heart to break. Examining the area a second time, he discovered some animal tracks leading away from the water's edge which appeared to belong to a canine - domestic, judging by their size. Raziel narrowed his eyes at the tracks. He strapped on his boots and followed their lead.

The dog tracks were soon joined by those of an adult human - clearly the dog's master. A line of grey smoke drifted across the sky; chimney smoke carrying a strange, savory scent. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. During the time of Kain's empire there were no human settlements that he knew of and the only smoke came from the colossal smokestacks built to block out the sun with ash. By comparison, the chimney smoke fading against the blue sky was quite innocuous.

Nearing the source of the smoke, Raziel flipped his ruined wings over his shoulder, so that they would not drag through the leaves on the ground, and skulked through the silent autumn shadows. He crouched beneath a tree on the edge of the clearing and peered through the bushes. Two adult humans, a human child, and a dog stood in front of some large human abode with a smoking chimney - an inn? The woman examined Raziel's cowl with curious expression. She touched the white markings which symbolized his clan. Blue fox-fire spouted from Raziel's glare.

"It's a piece of trash," said the woman. The child tugged on her apron.

The man, presumably her husband, pointed to the cloth. "What about these strange symbols?"

She shrugged dismissively. "It won't bring in more customers, I know that."

"But it's clearly foreign! Travelers love these sorts of oddities."

"Honestly, John," the woman sighed, pausing to scold her child. "Maybe if it was... I don't know, a sword or something _interesting._ It's just a filthy rag."

"We could hang it above the mantle."

"No, John." She shook her head and passed Raziel's cowl to her excessively inquisitive son, as if eager for the opportunity to be rid of it. The child held it aloft like a flag and smiled in awe of it. He began running around the clearing, flying Raziel's cowl behind him like a cape. Raziel watched the scene unfold in contempt. He lowered his eyes, hunched over his knees in the shadows.

These humans appeared to be unarmed, apart from John and his hatchet, which hardly counted as a weapon in Raziel's opinion. He did not find the thought of killing innocent humans for a piece of cloth appealing, no matter how much that so called _filthy rag_ meant to him personally. Still, if not for the small child, he might have drained their souls for sustenance and taken back his cowl as collateral. He was considering simply running up and grabbing it while the adults were arguing when he heard leaves crunching in front of him. He lifted his head. A pair of enormous, forest green eyes stared back at him.

It was the human child. He clutched the Razielim banner to his chest, his tiny hands digging into the fabric. Raziel slowly blinked his gleaming white eyes, all light and no substance, and sat very still as he studied the small pink thing in front of him, his face mangled beyond expression. The child hardly seemed to breathe.

Why did the child not flee from him? Was it too young to know better? Even newborn fawns knew better than to approach a wolf. Pitiful, these humans.

Raziel gently extended his clawed hand as if to coax a small bird with seeds. The boy gaped at his two large, skeletal fingers and thumb, each digit tethered by tendons and tipped with shining black razors. Raziel imploringly flexed the tips of his claws.

The boy glanced at the cowl. He inched forward hesitantly, bright eyes flickering like emeralds. Raziel held his gaze, still as stone. Now that the boy was within his reach he could easily lunge and take the cowl back before the child could even scream - but something deep within him refused to budge, transfixed by the contrariness of the moment. The child stretched out his hand and placed the cowl in Raziel's palm. Raziel's claws closed around the cloth as he took it back. The boy watched, captivated as Raziel shrugged the flaps of his wings over his shoulder and covered the gaping hole in his throat with the cowl. He adjusted it so that the symbol of his clan faced forward and raised an eyebrow at the boy looking back at him. Well...

_"Thanks,"_ he said with a sense of finality. With that, he rose and walked away from the human child and its parents.

That was an enlightening experience, he thought sarcastically.

At least he was clean.


	11. Metamorphosis - Rahab & Zephon

**Title:** Metamorphosis

**Era:** Soul Reaver: 1600 APC

**Character(s):** Rahab & Zephon

**Genre:** Horror/Suspense/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **100 years after Raziel's execution, Rahab pays a visit to his younger brother, Zephon, who has recently passed through the state of change and is upset with the result. Eresus and Aran are OCs.

* * *

The portrait of Lord Zephon overlooked the hall of the Silenced Cathedral, the capital of Zephonim territory. This artwork was, in some part, an exaggeration (Zephon was not that tall) but mostly an accurate depiction: his features were pointed, from the tip of his chin to the end of his nose. His ears were spears; his smile a dagger. His smooth hair swept back like a black flame. With one cloven hand on his hip, he held his short-sword like a gentleman's cane, the banner of his clan flowing from his shoulder in the wind.

A touch of irony there, Rahab thought. He and Zephon were Kain's fourth and fifth sons, respectively, occupying the bottom tier of the master's empire along with their youngest brother, the decrepit Melchiah, who recently became a recluse. Zephon had always tested the limits of his low status. He toed the line, masking his brash defiance behind levity so that no one took him seriously. As the middle child Rahab had taken a more restrained attitude toward his position in Kain's odd little family but he always enjoyed the show put on by his little brother.

How times change. Rahab's evolution had propelled him and his clan to favored status. Even Turel looked upon him with jealous eyes.

His body was wrapped in slick, rubbery skin that shined like quicksilver and his joints stretched like elastic. His spine was particularly flexible. His body was now almost completely devoid of hair and his genitals had retreated into his body through a slit in his front, allowing him to slice through the water with the quickness of a barracuda. His face had flattened out, his nose only a small bump on his face, and his ears retreated so that they hugged his skull. Pearl-shaped eyes looked out from his feminine face, shining like blue agates. The fins on the backs of his arms and legs, which had also appeared during his most recent metamorphosis, required him to modify his clothes, which he himself had designed to accentuate his aquatic adaptations. Turel and Dumah grew robustly, becoming more ogre-like, but Rahab was becoming beautiful.

Eresus and Aran, Zephon's closest consorts, led Rahab up the stairs to the metamorphosis chamber where their husband had confined himself. He attacked anyone who went inside and had already killed two of his sons when they attempted to force him out. When Aran tried to plead with him through the door, Zephon went into hysterics, screaming and threatening him with death if he dared to come inside. He would only speak with Rahab.

It was not unlike Zephon to be over dramatic. Killing two of his own children, however, was worthy of Rahab's concern, so he came as quickly as he could.

At the top of the stairs, Eresus and Aran huddled anxiously while Rahab proceeded down the hall to the metamorphosis chamber. The large, circular doors where shut, though the lock had been broken. Standing close, Rahab heard faint sobbing within the chamber. He glanced at Eresus uncertainly. She stared at him with pleading eyes and nodded. Rahab drew a deep breath. "Brother? This is Rahab."

Loud shuffling. Rahab stiffened anxiously. He opened the door, closing it behind him.

The metamorphosis chamber was designed to be comfortable and private. Weakness set in quickly with the onset of the fasting period. Since the fasting period could last between twenty-four and seventy-two hours, a place was needed for the clan's patriarch to rest safely until he entered the third and final stage of the metamorphosis.

The mutilated remains of two Zephonim lay splattered across the floor, utterly unrecognizable, as if torn apart by a demon in rage. Grey Zephonim flags had been torn from the walls and smeared with blood. Furniture was overturned and a mirror shattered. Even the bed had been smashed. Rahab gulped down the bile rising into his throat. He proceeded cautiously, noting the dehydrated remains of the cocoon in the corner of the room. He averted his eyes, embarrassed. The state of change was a highly private affair. He felt uncomfortable here. Scanning the room, Rahab spotted a lumpy object lying beneath a pile of blankets behind broken bed. It appeared to be trembling. "Is that you, Zephon?"

Under the blankets, Zephon drew a sharp breath. His throat sounded scratchy and dry. "Go away!"

"I've come as you asked." Rahab's voice was naturally sparrow-like as he circled the bed. Although completely obscured by the sheets, Zephon's size had clearly increased during his metamorphosis. It was happening to them all.

"Zephon isn't here! Leave!" Zephon yelped. In their eleven centuries of friendship and brotherhood he had never heard Zephon's voice so strangled by emotion.

He approached the cowering mass with cautious, gentle steps, and brushed aside a knife of broken mirror with his foot. "I traveled too far to leave you like this, brother."

Zephon choked out a sob. As he neared the mass something sharp caught in his throat. He did not know what he was looking at. Whatever lay beneath those blankets was churning like a den of serpents. It did not look like a person. "I want to die. Please!" Zephon cried.

Kneeling beside the pile, embarrassment forgotten, Rahab softly placed his hand where he imagined Zephon's head should be. The thing under the blankets felt smooth and hard - like a skull. At his touch Zephon quivered. Rahab cooed, "Be still. There's nothing to fear."

His little brother winced and released another, louder sob, crying openly on the floor. "No, no! This is wrong! It's all wrong! Why? Why!? Damn you! I want to die! I _want_ to _die!"_

Rahab moved closer and gently stroked his back, speaking to him kindly. His claws trembled slightly over the rows of protruding knobs down Zephon's back. He swallowed hard. Sooner or later, he would have to see what his brother had become.

Minutes passed and Zephon still showed no sign of calming. His cries only ceased long enough to beg for death. Only Rahab could pity him. Turel and Dumah would say that he had finally gotten what he deserved while Melchiah was embittered beyond caring what happened to any of them. Kain might grant his death wish, but not because he cared.

Zephon might not have always been a good friend to him, but he was there when it counted. When his other brothers disdained him for his weakness Zephon pretended not to care. If anyone slandered him Zephon was ready to silence them with a quick remark. They were younger and softer than the others, so they stuck together for protection, forging an unbreakable bond. He had known Zephon longer than he had known any of his own clan. Leaning over his sobbing brother, Rahab covered him like a shield, wrapping him up in his arms until he finally went still.

Feeling him start to move, Rahab moved away to let Zephon sit up and catch his breath. He crawled around to his front. Zephon lowered his head, keeping his face obscured. Rahab reached for the sheet. "Let me see."

As Zephon's face came into view Rahab released an involuntary gasp. It took all his will not to leap away. Hard, bony plates had replaced Zephon's skin. There were fissures in the plates to allow for moment, but instead of skin between them there were canyons of red muscle. One canyon divided his face in half down the middle. Deep set in his face, his eyelids were fleshless muscle, milky yellow eyes raw from tears. Like him, Zephon had lost all traces of hair.

At his cleft the canyon split, dividing his upper and lower jaw, and the bony opening where his mouth should have been was filled with row upon row of sharply pointed teeth. His lips, equally grotesque as his eyes, were peeled back with the horror of his own appearance. Where his ears should have been there were only gigantic, bloody holes, as if they had been turned inside-out.

These bony plates covered his entire body in a grotesque exoskeleton, but they were far from the worst change. His arms had grown disproportionately long. His index fingers had swelled to three times their usual length and hardened, immobile, while his thumb and secondary finger remained the same size. A smaller secondary set of arms had sprouted from under his arms. Though they were dwarfed by his other arms, they were almost the size of normal limbs, leading Rahab to wonder if these were not his original arms grown over by the larger pair.

The larger set of arms were crossed over his chest, giving him the look of a startled praying mantis. He desperately tried to use his smaller arms to cover his stomach, where the muscle, hemorrhaged and shimmering with blood, was completely exposed beneath a ribcage exoskeleton, and pull the blanket around his privates. Two other sets of malformed arms curled about his stomach. They flinched and clenched their tiny fists involuntarily like the arms of an infant.

His legs - what Rahab could see - were also covered in unnatural armor, yet like the rest of his body, it was a poor fit. Muscle and veins pulsated, plainly visible through the chinks. Rahab feared he was in pain. Trembling with shock and fear, Zephon whimpered, "Rahab, please _help_ me."

But Rahab could only shake his head. What on Nosgoth could possibly make this better?

Zephon leaned against Rahab's chest and sobbed.

* * *

**AN:** Dear RLt,

Zephon wants you to know that this is not even his final form! It gets so much worse. He and Rahab are about 2/5 of the way between their appearance in the opening of Soul Reaver and their final evolutions when Raziel fights them in game. Ironically, despite being the middle child, Rahab probably gets the best final form, imo. If you wanna see what I mean, check out the fan wiki for Legacy of Kain.

This drabble was partially inspired by the incredible artwork of Daniel Cabuco, AKA SpectralJin on deviantART, specifically _Zephon_ and _A Weakness Overcome_. He was part of the team that worked on the Legacy of Kain games and is still a fan. :)

PS - Expect a longer story involving Rahab and Zephon at some point. I've got a plot bunny.


End file.
